Little Falls transcript., 1887-03-11
DOC.
A Simple Tale Of Southern Backwoods Tiff,


pitiful looking boy. He was little,
puffy looking chap, with pale face,
small, bon7 arms and short, weakly
looking legs, and rather sickly-looking,
FRAGILE up, straw. colored hair on his
head. There was no personal beauty
about Docs face and figure, and yet
he was not unusually hard favored.
He was commonplace. Only that
and nothing more. Only a pea in q
pod where dozen peas OF similar ap-
pearance reposed. Only a little wire
grass boy, with not one redeeming
feature about him: except his eyes.
They were only remarkable for the
pathetic expression that fingered there.
What little light that ever flashed
from them was Of that sorrowtul cast
that one observes lingering on the
western horizon after a day s rain has
closed in a humid sunset.
Doc lost his mother. That was the
tie that bound US to him. She was
a commonplace wire grass woman, but
in her uncultured soul dwelt the same
traits ofnaternal love and cherishing
tenderness that's supposed to illu-
mine the high-born souls ofthose grand
DANES whose white hands have never
battled against hard and evil fate
for the simple necessities of prolonging
existence. She has nourished and
cherished her little boy, as only afond
mother can nourish and cherish a.
weak and fragile child. Ever on the
watch, she had stood between him
and all the wild streams OF adversity
that ragged about their humble log
cabin in the desolate barrens.
When she died Doc took it to heart
to greater extent than any OF US
thought possible. He had been such
a puny, peevish, pettish sort OF g. bov,
that we thought that only his selfish
ness could suffer. We were mistaken.
Doc was older than his age.
Well, do I remember how mother
used to toast the crispest bits OF
brown cornbread, softened with the
fresh, sweet butter; and how she used
to put a big lump OF that brown,
mush sugar In his coffee, so as to in
duce the little fellow to eat.
"You know his ma is dead" she
used to say, "and we must try to keep
him from missing her in every way we
CAM
And we were learning. We were
beng taught the grandest lesson in
human lore-the creed OF ofunselfshness.
We could not get him to join us Of
ten in any play. lie was too weak.
But when the afternoon sun shone
through the riffs in the great pine for
est. he would creep out on the sunny
side with us; and we would adjust
our sports to his strength.
Sometimes he would look up from
his play, with his eyes full OF tears, be-
would exclaim: "My ma is dead! I
can't ever see her no more!" Then he
would sob and moan as if his little
heart would break, and I am not
ashamed to say we would cry too.
"Might not the Lord take our dear
mother, too?" we asked ourselves.
All! my sainted mother! Thy love-
lighted brown eyes have been closed
to earthly scenes for many summers.
They closed your poor toil-worn
hands above your cold still heart a
long, long time ago and the tall pines
have shed from their dropping
boughs the purest distilled dews OF
heaven above your lonely grave; and
yet, in my dreams ] see that face oft
en- and again, and l never accomplish
a good deed or am guilty OF a bal
one, but what yours is the first name
that flashes through my intellect. A
man may have ten thousand friends,
even two well-beloyed wives, but new.
er but one mother. Blessed be that
holy name above all earthly treasures
most sacred and longest cherished.
AS the spring days grew warmer and
the timid wood violets peeped forth
on the banks where the sun fingered
longest, our protege grew more ro-
bust. There was even a faint tinge
of blood in his pallid cheek after a.
short walk about the plantation.
Deeper green grew the woodlands.
The rugged pines even touched them
selves up with a few gay tufts of a
softer tint, and from their queer
blossoms fell showers OF gold dust
that covered the still surfaces of
the water ponds. The trailing
jasmine covered itself with golden
bloom, and the honey ysuckle and dog
wood blossoms made the swamps and
lowlands radiant with guy hues and
redolent with delicate perfume. Birds
sang among the burstin. buds on the
tree, and the blue arch OF
heaven was glided with the fine gold
OF the life-giving sunlight.
Our sports and pastimes would
seem funny to you. We went fishing
nights. 1t was only half a mile to the
creek, and on g. little bluff that over
hung the dark waters we could build
our campfires, and then cast. our
crude tackle in the gloomy eddies
where the fire light played in ftful
waves Of light and shadow. Doc did
love to fish. We would dig in the
trash heaps for muck worms or skin
the pine logs for4sawyers, and then we
would carry his tackel for him, and
walk slow, and help him across the
sloshes and when he would catch q
mudcat we would say it was a big,
fine fellow. s'.zs.l .s Il
Doc was not an unappfeciative boy.
He sang those queer, old fashioned
songs for us, songs which he had heard
his mother sing. i have sat and lis
tened to his f'Barhara Allen, " as the
echoes ran riot among the caves and
iungles, till the big owl returned the
challenge With g mocking OF insane
laughter. 81